


Brotherhood

by dridri93



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Grace Bonds, Minor Violence, Multi, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 03:11:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3594189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dridri93/pseuds/dridri93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel had always found true peace with Castiel, ever since he'd first taught the tyke how to use those gargantuan ebony wings of his. And Castiel had always acted as his voice of reason, of compassion, when Gabriel passed judgement in his Father's name. But after the Fall, everything became more complicated, and peace even harder to find. Heaven was changed fundamentally by their Father on that fateful day, and from then on every angel was a soldier. Even so, behind the lines, Gabriel discovered peace in Castiel's wings.</p>
<p>But nothing so wonderful could last forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brotherhood

**Author's Note:**

> I have to thank [michaelLemieux](http://archiveofourown.org/users/michaelLemieux/pseuds/michaelLemieux) for this amazing [art](http://theflamesthesword.tumblr.com/post/114339534971/more-gabe-practice-because-i-cannot-his-face-draw)!

Later, Gabriel would swear to Father and Odin and everything in between that he had never seen a clumsier fledgling than Castiel. Father, but he always seemed to be knocking things over with those wings of his! And not easily replaceable things, either. No, he, bless him, managed to almost destroy the armor of David himself. Father only knew how – why He gave this little fledgling wings almost as big as he was had always been a mystery even to Gabriel, His Messenger.

But Gabriel still had always adored the little scrap of feather and Grace.

Case in point, at one point in time he’d found himself tossing the little bugger into the air and letting him figure out how to use those feathered monstrosities on his back. (Michael had no clue about what he was doing. Gabriel would so be getting chewed out for this if he knew.) Even with the extra lift, Gabriel ended up catching the squirt more often than not.

Finally, Castiel found that instinct in the back of his head and his wings snapped open. He began to glide, calling, “Gabriel, Gabriel, look! I’m _flying_ , big brother!”

Gabriel laughed and stretched up his arms. “Great job, squirt! C’mon, head this way now!”

Castiel tried to bank. He did, Gabriel could see the muscles moving under his feathers. But, Father help him, he couldn’t _quite_ manage the turn. And he hit the ground hard, rolling end over end for a good ways before Gabriel caught up to him. When he looked up, Gabriel could see tears forming in his eyes. But he sniffled and tried to smile, and his voice quivered just a bit as he chirped, “See, big brother! I flewed!”

“Yeah, Castiel. You sure did. Now c’mon. We need to work on your banking. You’ll get the hang of it, you’ll see.” He opened his wing, and stretched out a hand, and Castiel levered himself upright, wings all akimbo, and grabbed on.

Just as Gabriel was about to toss him skyward once again, he felt Michael approaching. “Oh, bother,” he muttered. “Sorry, kiddo. Gotta talk to Michael. Now, _don’t tell him_ …”

Michael landed in the middle of his instruction, and with a stern face (hiding humor, Gabriel _knew it_ ), asked, “What can I not know, Gabriel?”

“Um…well, that’s the point? Of saying don’t tell?” Gabriel tried.

Castiel, ever the font of childish enthusiasm, babbled, “Gabriel was teachin’ me to fly, Michael! He was…he was throwin’ me so high and I could glide! I flew, Michael!”

Michael hid his obvious amusement behind a stern countenance. “Gabriel. I told you, no endangering the fledglings.” 

“Eh, Castiel was fine the whole time. I had ‘im.”

“I am sure that you did. But David’s armor could tell a different story, as could the human’s first tablet of writing, and Raphael’s nest.”

“Well…he wasn’t flying for those.”

Michael sighed, “Gabriel. Brother. You know that I love you, and know that I love you as well, Castiel. But please, keep the chaos to a minimum. I saw Castiel’s fall just now, and I worry.” He didn’t need to say anymore. They all knew that an angel with broken wings was crippled for life.

Castiel hung his head, enthusiasm gone. “Yes, Michael,” he muttered, demure. “I’ll be more careful, I promise.” Gabriel’s grace hurt to see the normally effervescent fledgling so subdued, so he scrubbed his hand over Castiel’s hair. Castiel’s deep blue eyes, staring up at him through bangs that probably needed a trim, made him smile.

“Hey, kiddo, don’t worry. Michael just wants you to be safe. I’m sure that if we’re just a bit more careful that he won’t be _too_ mad, right?” He glanced up to see his big brother’s eyes crinkling around the edges, stern demeanor softened to fondness.

“Of course, young one,” Michael stated. “I just worry. It is my duty, as the eldest. Come now, show me what you’ve learned.”

And just like that, Castiel’s attitude brightened, and his face lit up, and he began to bounce in place. “Oh, can I, can I, can I?” He deflated just a bit before muttering, “But I can’t take off just yet. Gabriel’s gotta toss me.”

Michael sighed and smiled. “Then I suppose I can condone it, just this once. Be careful.”

Castiel nodded quickly, throwing his arms up to Gabriel. “C’mon, c’mon! I wanna show him how I can fly!”

Gabriel sniggered as he lifted the wriggling fledgling up, adjusting his grip. “Yeah, yeah, slow down a bit, kiddo. Now, remember what I told you – to bank, just tilt your wings a little bit. Too much, and you crash like before. You can do it, kiddo!”

As he tossed Castiel into the sky, Michael glanced over. “He has not mastered banking?”

Gabriel fidgeted, his eyes glued to the pair of black wings attached to (admittedly) his favorite fledgling. “Ah…no? We were working on just staying aloft.”

“And you threw him up there, with no knowledge of how to bank, and I assume none of how to land? Besides crashing that is?”

Gabriel scratched the back of his neck, his wings tilting down at the slight displeasure he could hear. “I can catch him. I’m more worried about him hitting someone else. That’s why we’re out here.”

Michael sighed. “I will never understand your methods, brother. But it is too late now.”

At that, Gabriel saw Castiel’s wings tilt, just a bit, and the fledgling began to turn back towards them. “Hey!” he cried, “You got it! Great job, buddy! Just a little further, you’re doing great!”

He kept shouting praise until he realized that Castiel was making a beeline for Michael, not him. And then he blanched, trying to catch the obviously out-of-control fledgling before he could crash into Heaven’s general.

It didn’t work, and Michael found himself with an armful of disheveled Castiel, wings drooping but face hopeful. Castiel looked up, sheepish, and murmured, “See, Michael? I flewed.”

Michael chuckled. “That you did, young one. That you did. Now, down you go. Gabriel needs to teach you how to land before you fly any more. Think of what Zachariah would have done had you crashed into him!”

Castiel shuddered. “Nuh-uh! Zachariah’s scary and a big bastard!” Gabriel blanched and tried to signal Castiel to just _stop talking_ , but apparently he looked too funny to take so seriously.

Michael’s head shot up, and his stare zeroed in on Gabriel. “A big what, little one?”

Castiel, giggling a bit at Gabriel’s frantic motions, stated, “A big _bastard_.”

Michael looked back down. “And who told you that, Castiel?”

“Gabriel. He was angry at Zachariah because he was being rude to Anael an’ Uriel an’ me. So Gabriel called him a big bastard and grabbed me and flew away. An’ the look on Zachariah’s face was funny. He looked like he was about to pop an’ his face was as red as a tan- … tum- … tome-…”

“Tomato?”

Castiel nodded, his wings fluttering with him. “Yeah! But he was being a big bully and sayin’ my wings were stupid an’ … an’ evil and Anael an’ Uriel were trying to help but they’re little like me so they couldn’t do nothing but then Gabriel noticed and stopped him and called him a big bastard and a bully and said he was gonna talk to Raphael.” Gabriel froze. He hadn’t been able to get Castiel to tell him the whole story, just that Zachariah was taunting him and his wings. Oh, how he wished he’d smote that bastard right in his smarmy face. Brother-on-brother violence be damned.

Michael glanced back to Gabriel, and seeing the veiled anger in his brother’s eyes, knew the truth in the fledgling’s story. “I see. Well, I will have a talk with him as well. Do not listen to him, Castiel. Your wings are a gift from our Father and as such are a blessing. Have you seen Lucifer’s wings?”

Castiel nodded. “Uh huh. His wings are beautiful, all black like mine but red too. An’ Azazel’s are kinda like mine, but I think they’re weird looking, because they look like fire an’ they’re all yellow, but they have black too. And Galadriel’s wings are black and purple an’ they’re _real_ pretty.”

“Exactly, young one. You are not alone. Your wings are your own, and no one, not even Zachariah, should call them evil.” Michael straightened from where he’d crouched beside Castiel, looking toward Gabriel, who’d been standing silently. “I am sure that you’re watching over him, just in case?”

Gabriel smirked, “What do you take me for? Of course!” He opened his arms. “C’mere, Castiel. Let’s work on those standing takeoffs again, yeah? So much wingspan has got to be good for something!”

Castiel ran forward, not even noticing that his wing smacked Heaven’s great general right in the face. Gabriel stifled a hysterical giggle, but Michael just smiled and rubbed his reddened jaw as his wings flexed upward. “I’ll go find Zachariah, brother. He’ll be disciplined for this.”

Gabriel nodded, keeping one eye on the flailing wings of Castiel, who was trying his best to take off. “Yeah, you do that. I’d do it, but there’d be nothing left but a shit stain if I tried to talk to him. He pisses me off, brother or not.”

Michael sighed. “I know. I have tried to teach him kindness, but it does not seem to take. Keep him safe, Gabriel. I do not wish to see him sad, nor any of his brothers or sisters.”

Gabriel nodded stiffly, not wanting to imagine the bundle of energy beside him still and quiet. “I know, me neither,” he murmured. Michael nodded once, acknowledging his words, before lifting off and arrowing back to the center of Heaven. 

Gabriel turned to Castiel to find him somehow on his back, feathers all askew, arms akimbo, but a huge grin on his face. “I was flying, Gabriel! I was flying! Did you see?”

Gabriel grinned back, a little white lie falling from his lips. “Yeah, kiddo! You did great! C’mon, let’s get these primaries straightened out. How in Father’s name did you fall backwards? Never mind, don’t tell me. 

You’ve got grass where no angel needs it, squirt. Hold still, now. I need to get these to lay flat.” He pulled an ebony wing over to his lap, running his fingers through it to remove stray vegetation and dirt. “Geez, kiddo, no wonder you couldn’t bank. Your primaries are all dirty! Do you even preen at night?”

Castiel fidgeted, and Gabriel sighed. “If you want to fly, you need to…”

Castiel groaned, “Keep my wings neat, I _know_ , Gabriel. I promise. But they’re so _long_ and my arms don’t reach!”

Gabriel looked at Castiel’s short arms (rather proportional to the rest of him, but only about a third of the length of his wings) and realized that, yeah, that was actually possible. “Even with them bent?”

Castiel nodded. “Yeah. The primaries are too long and I can’t even reach the secondaries. An’ my arms won’t reach my back. So I just stopped b’cause my wings kept growin’ but my arms stayed the same.”

Gabriel sighed. “If you needed help, you could’ve just asked, kiddo. I’d’ve been happy to help you keep clean.”

Castiel hung his head. “I didn’t wanna take up your time. You’re already so busy, an’ now you’re teaching me to fly, an’ you’re still the Messenger. I don’t even know why…”

Gabriel interrupted, not liking the direction the fledgling was going. “First things first. I will _always_ have time for you, kiddo. You are my priority. I told Father that long ago, back when you almost destroyed my nest and I promised to help you, and he understands. My duties as Messenger weren’t that much anyway. Second. Who told you that poison? Was it Zachariah again?”

Castiel’s silence was just as telling as any verbal answer. Gabriel seethed, “I’ll _kill_ that bastard. I’ll smite him ‘til his filthy mouth disintegrates.”

Castiel exclaimed, “No!” seeing Gabriel’s wings lift. “It’s okay. Michael’s talking to him, right? He’s getting disseh- … disciplined. Don’t hurt him, Gabriel.”

Gabriel looked down, head tilted, wings relaxed for the moment. “Why?”

Castiel fidgeted. “Well, Father doesn’t like fighting. An’ I don’t want you to get in trouble. An’ I know he’s mean, but I think it’s ‘cause he’s sad. I think he misses Rhamiel. I heard him whispering her name, an’ his wings were so low his primaries were all dirty. It made me sad, an’ I tried to comfort him, but he pushed me away with his wing and called mine evil and then Anael came and told him off, and Uriel tried to make us laugh with that one joke about the goat and the fish, but Zachariah wouldn’t be quiet, an’ then you landed and were all mad, so he shut up. But I think he was cryin’, Gabriel. An’ it made – makes me sad, because even he shouldn’t be sad. Because Father loves us all, and his love is forever. Right?”

Gabriel’s head reeled. He barely managed a quiet, “Right.” Of _course_ Zachariah was missing Rhamiel. He hated to pity the bastard, but man, even he couldn’t believe it when she was assigned to Earth to watch over some mortal called Abram. What a dick move on Lucifer’s behalf, separating those two right after they’d bonded. He could believe even less Castiel’s honest-to-Father _compassion_ for the bastard that’d basically called him an abomination to his face with no remorse, and didn’t even apologize. Father bless the squirt, he was a good kid. Gabriel knew that if he’d been in his place, Zachariah would’ve been missing a few pale grey feathers from those obsessively maintained wings of his.

Castiel tugged on his hand, which had frozen on his primaries. “Gabriel? You okay?”

Gabriel shook himself. “Huh? Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

Castiel shifted, wings fluttering just a bit. “How long’s this gonna take?”

Gabriel sighed, looking at the obvious dishevelment of the fledgling’s wings. “Probably a long time, kiddo. You wanna hear a story while I clean these up?”

Castiel bounced in place. “Yeah, yeah!”

Gabriel tugged gently at a feather. “Yes _what_?” he teased. 

Castiel muttered, “Yes _please_ , Gabriel,” mutinously. Gabriel grinned and continued to comb his fingers through the primaries, trying to dislodge all of the dirt and grass and straighten all the wayward feathers.

“Well, it all starts with this old drunk, you see. His family loved Father more than any of the other members of their tribe, so Father loved them. But the other tribesmen started to blaspheme, and they tried to make this old drunk follow their ways. And he almost folded, but someone – I have no idea who, all I know is that he’s awesome and happens to carry messages for Father,” that drew a giggle from the fledgling beside him, “told him that Father would reward him highly if he stayed faithful. And the old man nearly had to change his pants, because this certain angel conveniently forgot to conceal his true form – thank goodness he could see our true forms with no ill effects – and scared the old drunk so badly that he thought he’d died. But the angel reassured him that no, he lived yet, and that he was not so drunk as to be hallucinating. And the old drunk, called Noah, listened well to this angel, and took copious notes on a wineskin. And he began to build an ark.”

Gabriel continued with the story of Noah, who really was just a crazy old drunk who Father happened to like more than the rest, until Castiel fell asleep. His fingers continued to comb through the fledgling’s feathers, and he sat in silence.

It was the most peace he’d felt in a while.

Raphael’s call caught him by surprise. He shook Castiel awake, having finished preening his wings long before, and scooped him into his arms. “Okay, Castiel, time to go back home,” he groaned, standing up with him in his arms. “Hey, c’mon, work with me here. Tuck those wings in.”

Castiel murmured a sigh before slowly drawing his wings in close to his body. “Wha’s wrong, Gabriel?” he groaned. 

Gabriel shrugged. “Dunno, kiddo. But Raphael’s calling for me pretty insistently, so I’d better go see what he wants. You gonna be okay with Anael and Uriel?”

Castiel nodded, already falling back asleep. Gabriel sighed, “At least stay awake long enough to keep those wings tucked in tight. I don’t want to hurt them while I’m flying.” At his behest, Castiel groaned but pulled in his wings, eyes still firmly closed. Gabriel took off, aiming for the fledglings’ home.

He touched down long enough to drop Castiel off at the fledglings’ giant nest complex, placing his charge in the nearest open space of down and soft blankets. He looked around at the other fledglings, most of them Castiel’s age or younger, and smiled. “You guys look after him, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Anael, her bright red wings bowing in deference, nodded. Gabriel gave her his brightest smile, and she returned it just before he took off for Heaven’s headquarters.

He landed to find the other three archangels surrounding Zachariah with looks of varying anger on their face. Everyone loved Castiel after all – his clumsiness, no matter how destructive, endeared him to them all, even Raphael, who really couldn’t be bothered with anyone besides Camael these days.

Zachariah looked like he was about to shit his pants or sink through the floor, his wings tilted so far into submission as to be obscene and his face screwed up in what Gabriel assumed to be an attempt at contriteness.

With his arrival, Michael could begin to pass judgment on Zachariah, since a true binding decision required all four of them together to stick.

Michael began with a simple, “I assume you know why you are here, Zachariah.”

The simpering nod and submissive wing tilt that got out of the slimeball made Gabriel want to strangle him. Michael, sensing the buildup of anger in his grace, surreptitiously moved just a few inches to the left, ostensibly to intimidate Zachariah. (It actually put him between Gabriel and the object of his rage.) Michael continued, his wings arching upward, “And am I to assume that you have something to say for yourself before we pass judgment?”

Zachariah nodded quickly, stumbling over his words. “Michael, Raphael, Lucifer, … Gabriel … , I swear to you, I was provoked into my rash actions. I was standing on my own, not paying any attention to my surroundings, when the brat stepped forward and tried to _caress_ my wings, acting like I’d _asked_ for his pity or some such thing. I assure you, my words were not meant to harm, for I did not think before speaking. I will do so from now on, I swear to it.”

Hating every misrepresenting word from Zachariah’s mouth, and hating even more the slight consideration on Lucifer’s and Raphael’s face, Gabriel burst out, “ _Liar!_ I have talked with Castiel, and he has told me every detail of his encounter with you. Do not act as if you were not subconsciously looking for comfort, Zachariah – Castiel would swear that you were crying for Rhamiel, and I am more inclined to believe _him_. Not only that! Both Anael and Uriel tried to calm the situation, and you refused to halt the veritable _deluge_ of filth from your mouth! Do not paint this as though Castiel did anything besides try to comfort a grieving brother.”

Lucifer nodded his head, having kept his pale blue eyes on Gabriel throughout his monologue, and asked softly, “Zachariah. Does Gabriel speak the truth?” Raphael listened intently, content with collecting all available data before passing judgment.

Zachariah’s wings drooped a bit as he admitted that yes, he might have been grieving at the time. “But,” he exclaimed, “That was still no reason for that … that … _fledgling_ to try and give me comfort with those _wings_ of his!”

Lucifer’s gaze went hard. “Are you saying that Castiel’s black wings are abhorrent to you, Zachariah?” His face practically dared the other to answer in the positive as his own black and red wings loomed in the most threatening position Gabriel had ever seen. Zachariah started furiously shaking his head to the negative, his wings practically on the ground in submission. 

Gabriel had had enough. “Look, Zachariah,” he hissed. “If I had my way, you would be a bloody _smear_ on the ground. Castiel is mine and you will not insult him. The only thing holding me back is _his_ compassion for your grief. He begged me to spare your life, seeing your pain for Rhamiel’s absence, and I agreed, because he is my better half. But believe me, I walk a very thin line. Another _word_ from you against him and I will end your sorry existence, do you understand me?” He stepped forward, around Michael’s restraining arm, and bared his teeth in Zachariah’s face. He knew that his grace telegraphed just how furious and how sincere he was, and he also knew that Zachariah knew it and felt rightly afraid.

Michael corralled him backward, outstretching a wing to keep him there, but did nothing to rebuke him, and his thunderous expression showed why. “Gabriel,” he rumbled, “You are our Father’s Messenger. You _must_ be just in these moments, and you must pass down judgment befitting the crime.”

Gabriel seethed quietly, but subsided. Eyes hard, he straightened and stated with all the gravity of the Messenger, “Zachariah, I do sentence you to a century on Earth, watching over Isaac, Abraham’s son. You will not be allowed to return to Heaven, and no angel may come down from Heaven to see you unless ordered by me. You will protect and guard this ancestor of David, and you will do so to your best ability … and beyond. So it will be written, so it will be done.”

Lucifer watched Zachariah fawn over Gabriel in obsequious gratitude, and as soon as the other had departed for Earth, scoffed, “You’re going soft, brother.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Whatever. Abraham’s going to die in a decade anyway. So he gets ten years with her. He’ll also get ninety without.” He beat his wings and flew away.

He tried not to notice the sudden shrewdness on Lucifer’s face, or the thoughtfulness on Raphael’s, or the poorly-hidden gratitude on Michael’s. It was just.

When he told Castiel about the punishment he meted out, he certainly didn’t expect the fledgling to hop into his arms and hug him tightly, crying, “Thank you for being so nice, Gabriel! I know he made you angry, but you were better than him, an’ he knows it, an’ maybe he won’t be so sad anymore. You’re the _best_ , Gabriel.”

Gabriel could feel himself blushing, of all things, and swiftly muttered about Abraham’s oncoming death and Rhamiel’s inevitable return.

Castiel shook his head, though. “Nuh-uh,” he said, “ _Any_ time with your bondmate is a precious gift, Balthazar told me so.”

Gabriel looked at him strangely. If he remembered correctly, Balthazar was not only twice Castiel’s age, but on assignment watching the winemakers of the world. “What does Balthazar, of all angels, know about bonding? And when did you get the chance to talk with him?” he asked, skeptical.

Castiel looked upward and asked, “You didn’t know? He just bonded to Shushienae. He says that she’s his better half or something. He was in Heaven tryin’ to get Raphael to let up on his assignment b’cause he said the people he was watching had it down to a … to a fine art.”

Gabriel snorted. “Figures that flighty ass would end up bonded to the angel of Purity itself. Man, Father must be laughing his ass off watching this.” He ignored the pang deep in his grace. After all, if even _Balthazar_ , the single most unattached angel in Heaven, could settle down with a bondmate, what the hell was he doing?

Castiel tilted his head, his eyes squinting. “Why are you sad, Gabriel? Why haven’t you bonded with someone?”

Gabriel, for the first time in a very long time, stuttered over his answer, which turned out to be a lie. “Well, you see, Castiel, if I tried to bond my grace with a normal angel, my grace would burn them up. It’d only work if I bonded with an archangel, and can you even _try_ to imagine me bonded to Lucifer? Or _Michael_?” He mock-shuddered. “Nope. I’m better off as I am.” He didn’t even attempt to explain why Raphael was able to bond with Camael, and Castiel didn’t ask. In fact, the little fledgling fell silent, letting Gabriel muse.

Why _hadn’t_ he bonded yet? Hell, he’d certainly looked around often enough. Galadriel, in particular, caught his eye more often than not; she had a wit to compete with his and a saucy tongue to match (although he still couldn’t figure out why she called Castiel “Clarence”). He supposed that he’d just wanted to wait until Castiel was grown, and could take care of himself, before really looking. He didn’t acknowledge the little voice deep in his grace that muttered mutinously about how he only felt as happy as he did now when Castiel was nearby, and Galadriel’s intensity freaked him out just a bit.

Nope. Not going there.

He tugged Castiel to his feet, picking him up. “C’mon, squirt,” he teased, “We still need to teach you how to take off without me tossing you around, yeah?”

The decades lazed on, and Castiel started to mature. His body slowly began to catch up to his wingspan, and by the time Zachariah returned, face haggard and wings unkempt, Castiel was practically fully grown.  
He’d also managed to master his wings sometime around the sixth decade, although the scale model of Noah’s ark would never be the same. Now, they’re the perfect size for his body, all sleek black lines and soft feathers, strength and speed hidden in their wiry build. Sometimes, Gabriel caught himself staring at them for long stretches of time, and each time he shook himself and looked away. Nope. Not going there.

All of Castiel’s nestmates had already received their assignments and begun their duties. Anael watched over spurned lovers, keeping them from dealing with various dark forces present in the world in order to regain the attention of their beloved. (Gabriel had a feeling that both she and her vessel were having altogether too much fun with _that_ duty. He hadn’t seen an angel that, well, satisfied since Balthazar had gone on his last bender.) Uriel happily aided clowns and royal jesters everywhere. (He was having just as much fun, although Castiel often ended up giggling when his brother admitted that none of the humans seemed to appreciate his best and dirtiest jokes. Apparently they’re funnier in Enochian. Gabriel had to chuckle at that, too.)

But Castiel remained glued to Gabriel’s side, accompanying him on his duties, occasionally helping out by intimidating various cowardly schmucks with his black wings. (Jacob had actually wrestled with the fledgling, and won. Gabriel still teased him about it.) And maybe Gabriel was basically hiding Castiel from Michael to keep him from sending Zachariah to give Castiel an assignment. So sue him. He liked the kid and wanted to keep him around, and he had a feeling that “eternal assistant to the Messenger of the Father (who really doesn’t do much anymore)” wouldn’t fly as a job, and would in fact get him laughed out of Heaven for even suggesting it.

It couldn’t last forever. Zachariah pounced on Castiel while Gabriel was conversing with Michael, who had called him urgently away for no particular reason. Gabriel returned to find Castiel the brand-new guardian and aide to all strategists on Earth and Heaven, and protector of all that falls on the day to be called Thursday besides. He sighed, knowing that it was bound to happen sometime, and hugged Castiel one last time. “You do good out there, Castiel,” he murmured, “I’ll see you in a decade.”

He watched Castiel fly down to Earth until he couldn’t see anything, not even the black flash of wings, anymore.

It was a very long decade. Gabriel languished in boredom, and what might have been a little loneliness. He had nothing to do, really, because Father certainly didn’t contact him with any heavenly mandates anymore, and that was actually beginning to worry him. But even more than Father’s absence, Gabriel stressed over Castiel. After all, the kid had _just_ learned how to fly from Heaven and back! What if he was stuck somewhere down there, unable to return home and caught in the crossfire? What if some pagan had found him and trapped him, or hurt him somehow, and he couldn’t get free? What if Galadriel had trapped him somewhere and proceeded to try and convince Castiel that he loved her and should bond with her, and wouldn’t let him go until he agreed?

Galadriel’s obsession with “Clarence” had gotten out of hand in the last few decades, as Castiel filled out. She’d taken to practically following him around, fawning over his wings and stretching hers out to rub his, with the excuse that she was simply “seeing how they complemented each other.” Father, but it gave Gabriel chills yet made his grace burn with icy fire every time he saw the uncomfortable expression on Castiel’s face.

Just before Castiel was given his duties, the harassment (Gabriel called it like it was, nothing more) had gotten so bad that he’d taught the kid how to contact him on a private line. That way, if Galadriel found him while he was alone and cornered him, he could call for help without her knowing about it. (He’d found out the hard way that simply asking her to leave him alone only made her more persistent.) That private communication line had probably saved Castiel quite a bit of grief, and Galadriel had seemed like she was backing off a bit by the time Castiel left for Earth.

Just then, he heard a quiet, but forceful cry of _“Gabriel!”_ over just that private line. He’d admit it – he panicked. He sprang up to his feet and, without even letting Michael know, flung himself down to Earth, grace searching frantically for the origin of the call.

He finally found Castiel on a little island in the middle of Earth’s ocean, surrounded by gigantic stone statues that honestly freaked him out. The sheer power they exuded, especially considering that more than half of their bodies were buried under tons of dirt, threw him off kilter. He couldn’t imagine what they were doing to Castiel, who had maybe half of his power, and therefore half of his resistance.

His fears were proven right when he really looked at Castiel. The angel’s legs were shaking, his vessel’s knees locked, and Castiel looked truly spooked. “Castiel?” he asked gently, “What’s wrong?”

Castiel opened his mouth, and no words came out. His eyes grew even wider, if that was possible, and he shook his head. His wings, intangible behind him, flared briefly in fear before he tucked them back as close as he could to his body again.

Gabriel closed his eyes. He couldn’t feel any angelic grace holding Castiel to silence, so he put a hint of archangelic command behind his voice. _“Castiel. What has happened?”_

Castiel straightened, wings still tight to his back. “I … It was Galadriel, Gabriel. I was commanding the battlefield with Joshua and she found me, dragged me he … here. I could not fight her, it was as if she had gained power somehow.

“When she dropped me here, I did not notice the statues, too intimidated by her demeanor. She asked me then what I felt about the humans. She … she asked me whether I considered them equals, or my betters, or beneath me. I answered the only way I knew how, that humans are Father’s most wonderful and intriguing creation. When I said that, she sneered at me, her face twisted up, and flew away.

“After she left, I could no longer ignore the statues. It was as if she had been shielding me from them, and her departure opened me up to attack. I do not know why they affect me. I do know that they are watching me, Gabriel, and that they are trying to wrap their hands around my wings, ensnare my _grace_ , and it is all that I can do to hold them off.”

As soon as Castiel mentioned the intangible hands grasping at his grace, Gabriel noticed the same. They couldn’t lay a hand on him, though, as his power was so much greater. He growled and sent a pulse of pure grace throughout the island, burning out from the statues every pagan god that the natives had once sealed. Castiel straightened and relaxed with a relieved sigh, his wings hanging freely once again.

Gabriel waved him off, back to his duties. He, on the other hand, stayed a while and contemplated Galadriel’s strange question to Castiel. He could remember a similar question from Lucifer, just before Castiel’s call.

_“Gabriel, brother, may I ask you something?” Lucifer had asked, a small smile on his face._

_Gabriel nodded, looked up. “Sure, brother. What do you require?”_

_Lucifer shook his head. “I simply have a question for you.”_

_Gabriel tilted his head. “Okay then, what?”_

_“How do you see these … humans? Do you believe that Father is right, ordering us to love them even before Himself?”_

_Gabriel blanched. “Um, Lucifer, you’re my brother and I love you, but that sounded disturbingly like blasphemy against Father. I’d know because I was his mouthpiece when he first gave that edict. Please, tell me you’re not being reckless. Hell, just because the humans are dirty, nasty little buggers doesn’t mean they aren’t hilarious. What can I say, they’re compelling.”_

_Lucifer shook his head. “I am not being ‘reckless,’ as you say, brother. It was simply a question. I thank you for answering honestly.” He screwed his mouth up, his pale eyes dark with something that Gabriel couldn’t name, before flying away. The encounter stuck with him. He’d never before seen that flavor of a calculating look in Lucifer’s eyes. And he’d never been able to ask why he wanted to know._

Gabriel had sudden feeling of impending doom. Castiel’s garbled cry from Heaven for his presence certainly didn’t help that.

His flight back to Heaven probably broke angelic speed records. His franticness was helped along by Castiel’s continued cries for help, for his presence, for safety, and for something (or some _one_ ) to stop. Gabriel landed, panting, to find Heaven in upheaval.

Every angel, active assignment or not, was gathered in front of Father’s throne. They all were silent, watching with wide, fearful eyes the spectacle before them.

Lucifer had worked himself into a frenzy. He paced back and forth in front of Father’s throne, wings spread as wide as they could go in aggression, grace brilliant with rage, eyes flashing like lightning. He ranted about humans: how they were unworthy of the angels’ adoration, how dirty and lowly and disgusting and disobedient they were, and how he refused to love them any longer. Gabriel watched, mouth shamelessly hanging open in shock, as Lucifer defied Father’s final command.

Michael tried to grab him, he did. And after a long moment of struggle, he succeeded, and then Lucifer ranted from the cage of his older brother’s arms. Gabriel looked around and saw other angels – Azazel and Galadriel and Moloch and Rhamiel and _so many others_ – writhing in the holds of their brothers and sisters as well, screaming in tandem with Lucifer, spewing the same blasphemy that he was. Zachariah held Rhamiel back, and Gabriel’s heart actually broke for the bastard (just a bit) because he could see him begging Rhamiel to reconsider, assuring her that he could intercede for her if only she would repent before Father arrived, sobbing that he did not want her to be punished, not by _Father_ , for his mercy was great but his wrath was far greater.

But it was too late. Every angel’s head snapped up as Father appeared, and likewise every angel’s head was forcibly bent and every angel fell to their knees as Father’s wrath became apparent. Even Gabriel knelt, because his Father’s wrath burned as it never had before, icy and fiery and blustery and calm, all at once, and he knew instantly that every rebel angel’s fate was sealed.

But he glanced up to find one lone angel, grace even brighter now with indignation and rebellion and the agony of rebellion. And Lucifer stood tall in the face of his Father’s wrath, and Michael released him. His brother was lost to him now.

Gabriel watched as his Father _shoved_ Lucifer to the ground, and further, until he was prostrate before him. And every rebel fell similarly to the ground, their wings flattened and held so that no one of them could escape.

Gabriel felt sick to his stomach as his Father commanded Michael, and Raphael, and him, and Zachariah, and Castiel, and Balthazar, and other angels with deep bonds with the rebels to stand. And his Father pulled swords from their beings, not bothering to soothe the pain of remaking them in his wrath, and handed the weapons of destruction to each. And his Father ordered them to strike down their brothers and sisters, to cut off their wings so that they may never return, and Gabriel wept.

Michael acquiesced first, but as he raised his sword to sever the first of Lucifer’s many wings, his Father stayed his hand. Lucifer looked up, childish hope shining through the sudden fear in his eyes. But he received no respite. Instead, his Father clapped his hands, and with a great shudder throughout all creation, a new realm opened deep beneath Earth, and the Father of All proclaimed it Hell, and he clapped once more with a thunderous sound, and a Cage grew out of the bedrock of Hell, and its bars burned with fire and seared with ice. And He ordered Michael to hurl Lucifer into this Cage, and shut the Door behind him, and never release him, but leave him his wings, so that he may always remember what he lost.

Gabriel watched Michael turn to his Father, about to beg for mercy, but instead he stumbled under the weight of his Father’s command. Michael turned instead to Lucifer, who cowered in fear, tears running down bright cheeks, wings trembling. And Michael took his brother by the arm, and opened a path straight to Hell, straight to the Cage, and threw his brother down. The other angels watched in apprehension and terror as Lucifer Fell in a meteor of ice and fire and grace, all the way to the Cage, and as Michael followed and slammed the Door in his brother’s tear-stained face. Gabriel instead watched as silent tears stained Michael’s face, and his wings drooped in grief, and the great general of Heaven mourned the loss of his closest brother.

Michael ascended back to Heaven slowly, and at his arrival received praise from his Father for his obedience and steadfastness, as if He did not see the fear and reckless love in Lucifer’s final cries for mercy weighing on his favored son.

But Gabriel knew that it was not over yet. And God turned back to the huddled mass of angels, rebels and faithful alike, and compelled those whom He had chosen to do as He had commanded.

Screams of a multitude of angels rent the air as their wings were sliced off, jagged stumps left in their place.

In the melee, Gabriel grabbed onto Galadriel’s wing and smiled sadly down at her face. He tried to ignore the feel of his blade ripping through grace, instead whispering that if only she had seen the humans as “Clarence” had, that she would be whole tomorrow. She screamed all the way to hell, and her wings burned to ash on the ground before him.

Zachariah sobbed and screamed with Rhamiel as he jerkily severed her beautiful wings and threw her down. He wailed as their bond shattered, and collapsed to his knees, holding himself in a mockery of an embrace.

Balthazar gripped Shushienae’s wings tightly, tears falling onto dappled feathers. He wailed his grief, his anger at her rebellion, his betrayal, his disbelief, and he removed her wings and cast her down. Then he sat, a broken shell of himself, and stared at her Falling form, and wept.

Castiel flinched at every scream and stared at Moloch, who had counseled him so many times on strategy and tactics, and who was now prostrate before him. He grabbed both wings, already analyzing the least painful way to do as his Father commanded, and whispered a heartfelt apology to his mentor before casting him down. His eyes watered and his wings drooped to the dirt as Moloch screamed.

In short order, every rebellious angel had Fallen into Hell. Gabriel flinched as his Father congratulated them, His newly-broken children, and called them His faithful, His beloved. Then He withdrew, and only Gabriel, His Messenger heard him whisper, “Tell Michael my son that this was my last intercession. My dearest children, my only children, you must find your own way now, without the poison in your midst. Do not search for me, for I will not be found.” Gabriel flung out his arms and wailed his loss, trying to catch hold of his Father and keep him there.

He failed.

Later, Heaven was still in shock. Castiel found Gabriel where he stood, watching his brother’s grace shift deep within the Cage. The younger angel simply asked, “Why?”

Gabriel had no answer, and he hated that he had no answer. He hated that their Father had left them, broken them without remorse. He hated the feel of the grace-stained, bloodstained sword in his hand, the empty hole it left in his grace. He hated the bitter edge to Castiel’s words that had not been there before. But he especially hated that Lucifer had rebelled, and brought this down on them. He had ruined their family, broken their _home_ , and he hated him. But he loved him, because he had played with him when he was still a fledgling, and he had defended him to Michael when his recklessness had gotten him into trouble, and he had loved him in return.

Gabriel hated himself for his hate, and wished that he could withdraw, become unfeeling, if only to forget for a little all the pain that fed his hatred.

He didn’t say any of that out loud. Instead, he turned to Castiel, innocent, broken, bitter Castiel, and asked one last favor before he returned to his duties and life went on its way.

Castiel answered simply: “Anything, brother.”

Gabriel curled his wings around himself in an unfamiliar show of discomfort. “Can I … can I preen your wings?” He knew full well that Castiel could do so on his own now. But he needed … he needed.

Castiel nodded once, silent.

Gabriel sighed and collapsed to the ground, trying to forget the Cage. Instead he fixated on his brother’s ebony wings, only then realizing that Castiel was the only black-winged angel remaining in Heaven. And he treasured the ebony feathers even more, and preened them more gently, and tried not to let the salt of his tears dry on them.

As his fingers combed through Castiel’s fathers, he floated back to a simpler time, when Castiel was still a fledgling with clumsy wings too big for his body, and when all of his brothers and sisters loved one another, and when their Father watched over them, and when they were not so fundamentally _broken_.

He thought that this was probably the most peace that he would ever feel again.

It was over far too soon.

The stropping of Michael’s wings disturbed their fragile peace. When the archangel landed, Gabriel almost flinched at his appearance. Gone was the gentle humor that hid behind the sternness of his eyes, gone was the soft tilt to his wings speaking of mercy. Instead, his face was set in stone, brows hard and drawn in, eyes like diamonds, mouth tightened into a straight line. His wings didn’t hang anymore – they were held rigid and tight behind his back, no emotion shown, no quarter given. And his grace, once the brightest in all of Heaven, was dimmed at its very core.

Caught up in his blatant staring at the changes in his brother, Gabriel almost missed the exchange between him and Castiel, who had sat up as soon as Michael had landed. He refocused when he heard the word “army.”

“Castiel,” Michael had commanded, “You are now to cease your duties as guide of the strategists of Earth and join the ranks of the new army.”

Castiel had not argued, simply bowed his head and lowered his wings in acceptance.

Gabriel had other plans. “Um, Michael, don’t you think Castiel would do better as, say, a strategist in the new army, instead of the rank-and-file? Seriously. Who gave these orders?”

He realized his mistake when Michael turned to him. “I gave the orders. And they _will_ be obeyed. You, Gabriel, are to report to your garrison as well. You are a general now, and I will have you act like it.”

Gabriel tried to argue. “Look, Michael, I know that I’m an archangel and all, but really, I’m not well-suited for command. In fact, I nominate Castiel to take my place as general. He actually has experience in combat situations and … stuff. I’d be much better suited for a job as the leader of that unit of Cupids you’ve assigned as battlefield messengers, don’t you think? That was my job before, you know?”

Michael stated, “Gabriel, brother, you and your words. Unfortunately, Lucifer’s choi- garrison has been left in need of a leader, and a strong one. His was the most affected by his poison, and his requires the most leadership. If they would accept a _malakh_ as a leader, I would place Castiel above them all. Unfortunately, they require a better show of power to bow before. That is you, Gabriel, one of the four first archangels, Messenger of our Father. I will even place Castiel within that garrison. I know of your … attachment to him.”

Gabriel flinched when Michael named Castiel _malakh_. Once, he had been _seraph_ , a singer of songs and a guardian of those in need. Now, he was simply a _malakh_ , one lowly warrior among others. And that term rankled more than it should. He nearly snapped at Michael to not call Castiel that, but realized that he was right. Everything had changed.

Michael showed no sign that he had seen Gabriel’s anger, flying away once he had given his orders. In fact, he had made no sign that he had been angry, or that he had been bitter, or even that he had been tired. Michael was the perfect general now. All that had been required for the transformation was to lose that which made him _Michael_.

Gabriel turned away from the slowly-disappearing figure of Michael to find Castiel, head dropped, wings rustling uncomfortably. He rewound the confrontation, realizing that Castiel had probably wanted to get away the whole time.

Castiel glanced up, making certain that Michael was long gone, before asking, “Gabriel? What are you going to do?”

Gabriel huffed a laugh, bitterness seeping from his grace. “There’s nothing I can do now but follow Michael to the end, Castiel. He’s on the warpath now, and he won’t be coming back.”

Castiel tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

Gabriel shrugged. “He’s got something to fight now.” He pointed downward, toward the Cage and Hell. In the midst of the fire and smoke, both angels could see slowly dimming points of light: stumps of angels’ wings, their brothers’ and sisters’ wings, re-growing into dark masses, ragged wings of leathery skin and bone and smoke.

Gabriel focused on one such dimming speck, only to recognize Rhamiel. Barely. She’d become nearly unrecognizable, her grace stained and contaminated until it resembled pitch, slimy and dark, with fully grown wings. Her smile, far from being the soft, benevolent upturning of lips from before her Fall, twisted her face. No love or compassion shone in that smile; only bloodlust and twisted glee.

She held a dark sword in her hand, blade jagged and saw-toothed. Gabriel heard Castiel gasp in shared pain when she cut into something brighter in front of her: a human soul. It was also mangled beyond belief, its brightness dulled by never-ending pain and the infectious darkness of Hell itself.

As they watched, Rhamiel pulled back her blade and extended a blood-soaked hand. She asked some unknown question, demented grin still in place. The soul seemed to consider the answer for almost no time at all before nodding with a head barely attached to its torso, and the light within dimmed so much that even Gabriel couldn’t find it again. Rhamiel freed the soul, now a twisted mockery of that which their Father made, and handed it a knife, silver and clean. The soul gripped the knife and approached another, still chained.

The knife sunk in, and Castiel almost crumpled with a hollow cry.

Gabriel tugged him away from the edge, wiping his tears. “Hey, hey,” he attempted to soothe, “Hey, forget about it. We can’t do a thing about it. All we can do is follow Michael’s orders. Maybe he’s got a plan to stop this.”

Castiel stood, still shaky, firmly looking away from the opening to Hell. “Gabriel … brother … what was that? I do not understand. _Why?_ ”

Gabriel sighed. “I don’t know. This is a totally new phenomenon. Maybe the humans knew something we didn’t when they kept damning others to Hell. Maybe they already knew what was happening.”

Castiel shuddered, recalling the twisted thing that wore Rhamiel’s face. “Do you … do you think that she could be saved?”

Gabriel’s face softened, and he shook his head. “She made her choice, Castiel, little brother. I’m sorry.” He stepped forward, extending a hand as if to pat his shoulder, but pulled it back. “They’re receiving their due now. It’s Father’s will.”

Castiel straightened, eyes blazing, crying, “But it’s not just! No angel – no _brother_ or _sister_ of mine – should be like that, should be so twisted!”

Gabriel looked down at the blackened soul, knife in hand, grotesque smile stretching its face, blood splattered over its arms. “I know, little brother. I know.”

Castiel turned away, tears still staining his face, wings held rigid. “I am going to go to the garrison. I will train with them. I will help heaven to …” He faltered. “… to stop this evil.”

He tilted his head, staring into the distance. “After all, last time Father returned because Heaven had been poisoned by Lucifer. He ordered us to better our home, to cleanse it. If war is the only way to do so, to please him, then I shall go to war for Heaven.” He paused, turned to Gabriel, resolve hardening his eyes. “No. I shall go to war for _Father_.”

Gabriel tried to smile, to show his support. But every mention of Father struck him deep within his grace, and his smile came out as more of a grimace. Castiel didn’t comment, just flew back to Heaven, face set.

Gabriel, though, lingered a while longer. He watched Rhamiel in front of another soul, joined by her convert. This soul, obviously new to Hell, shone as bright as a newborn star.

He stood still as a statue and watched it, too, break and stain and darken until bloodlust twisted its face and knives danced in its hands. His mouth twisted into a bitter mockery of a smile. Hell was gathering its army as well.

He took flight, fire still dancing behind his eyelids, bloodstained knives still flashing every time he blinked. When he found his garrison, they had already begun to train.

He found himself learning just as much, if not more than, those underneath him. He had never been a warrior, never been a strategist. He had no idea how to organize a garrison, or lead them into battle. In this, Castiel proved invaluable, pointing him toward specific maneuvers that would be fitting for the simulation. When the garrison was not together and training, he and Castiel took to sitting together and strategizing (or rather, Castiel strategized ad Gabriel learned). He learned quickly, and with two decades could command his garrison as handily as Michael or Raphael.

But time dragged on, and they received no assignment. A century had passed by the time Michael called on them, and by that point they were the greenest garrison in Heaven. Even Zachariah’s small detachment had seen battle before them.

But Gabriel ignored the seeming slight and called together his troops. He took flight over his troops and raised his voice louder than he ever had, warning them, “Brothers, sisters! Our enemies this day will wear the faces of our siblings, of our dearest friends. Wings will haunt their backs, and swords rest in their palms. But be warned! They are not who they once were. They have darkened, twisted, become that which no being should ever become. Now they torture human souls for entertainment, and kill our brothers and sisters for revenge. Do not offer them mercy, for they will seize the opening and kill you. Do not promise them quarter, for none shall be given. Treat them as they now are: monsters, worth nothing more than the dirt you scrape from your wings. Fight as one, so that they may not sow chaos within our ranks. And finally, remember that here you are loved, and you will always have a home in Heaven. Go forth and triumph!” He raised his sword and flared his wings to the roar of the garrison below him.

Castiel, far below, wore sickened resolve all over his face, and his sword dangled at his side. Gabriel tried to ignore the desolation behind his little brother’s eyes and cried for the garrison to advance. The army approached.

The battle raged for a long time. Angels and their twisted once-brethren alike screamed in agony, white flares of light and dark clouds alike flickering out of existence. Darkened souls carried blades meant to eradicate angels and snuck up behind some, laughing as they fell and their wings were incinerated. Gabriel focused on the melee in front of him, tangling with both Beelzebub and Azael at the same time. Azael fell to his blade before the opposing army called a retreat. He could still see the dark cloud of her essence that the bright pureness of his blade had snuffed out, and could still feel the impure stain on his grace where she had gripped him for the slightest moment.

He took wing, leaving her vessel’s body on the ground, eyes still open in death.

Back in heaven, a Cupid tended to his minor wounds. Beelzebub had nicked him in the side with his wicked blade, and grace had been seeping unnoticed from the wound. He still could not feel any pain. Turning around, he ignored the Cupid’s annoyed huffs to try and find Castiel. His wings spread in alarm when he could see nothing but tawny, red, golden, white, grey in the crowd of angels. No black wings in sight.

He continued to ignore the Cupid’s timid complaints as he took wing once again, crying across Heaven, “Castiel! Brother! Where are you?”

He received no reply.

He began to circle Heaven, trying to sense any iota of Castiel’s presence, calling his name all the while. He grew more desperate as time went on and he neither saw nor heard no trace of Castiel.

He flew to Michael and begged, “Michael, brother, please, have you seen Castiel? I can’t find him, and I’m worried for him.”

Michael had no answer except that “casualties happen, Gabriel.” Gabriel almost screamed in inarticulate fury before he flew off once again.

Next he found Raphael, and entreated him, “Raphael, has Castiel found you looking for medical assistance?”

Raphael stared long and hard at him, at his fidgeting wings and disheveled feathers, at his wild eyes and mussed hair. “No, Gabriel,” he stated. “I have not seen him. Perhaps Zachariah and his detachment of our brothers could aid in you search?”

Gabriel’s face twisted in disgust even as he agreed. He flew to Zachariah, wings itching with discomfort the whole time. He came away with overzealous platitudes and promises of help, and a feeling of uncleanliness that nothing could shake. But even so, he reasoned, any sort of aid would help, and he should be thankful.

After scouring Heaven for what seemed like millennia but was really only a decade, after almost losing his voice from screaming his little brother’s name so loudly and so often, Gabriel stopped dead in his still-frantic flight. He could have sworn that he’d heard a voice he never thought he’d hear again.

There it was again! “Castiel, Castiel!” he cried, flinging himself toward the origin of the faint whisper against his grace.

The flight felt far longer than it usually did. As his wings thrust him forward, toward the nearly-inaudible cries for help from Castiel, Gabriel worried. And worried. What if Castiel had been trapped again by some rebel, and now he was almost dead? What if he was _human_?

He landed in a rush of feathers, feet striking the ground like hammers. He found a dismal sight: Castiel, frozen, on his hands and knees, covered in mud. Gabriel rushed over to his brother, inspecting him for any visible injuries. When he found none, he sighed in relief. Even so, something was still very wrong. Castiel hadn’t even glanced up at his arrival. His grace hadn’t brightened in welcome as it normally did.  
In fact, Gabriel could barely see the dim glow of grace from deep within Castiel’s vessel. That scared him more than any thought of Castiel injured.

Gabriel dropped to his knees by Castiel’s side, careful not to startle him. “Hey, Castiel, little brother, what’s wrong?” he pleaded.

Castiel looked up slowly. Gabriel could almost hear his vessel’s bones and ligaments creak as they’re moved for the first time in what was obviously a very long time. He almost couldn’t hear Castiel’s voice, even with his superior hearing. But he managed, and heard Castiel whisper on a breath, “I can’t … I can’t hear the others, brother. I … I can’t feel my wings. My sword … do you see my sword? I cannot find it. I am so _tired_ , Gabriel.”

Gabriel’s unease grew with every word, until his wings were fluffed to twice their size and he was about to start pacing. He grabbed Castiel on impulse, bodily dragged him (and his vessel with him) to Heaven. Oh Father, Castiel’s grace was fading. Everything that made him _Castiel_ was draining away, and Gabriel had to fix it. Maybe being in Heaven would help him, give him a more direct link to the divine source of their strength, of their grace.

But when he landed in Heaven, Castiel simply slumped onto the ground. His eyes were dull, his wings (barely visible now) hung ragged and unkempt, primary feathers going every which way, dirt practically coating them.

Gabriel was having none of that. He got down on Castiel’s level and slapped him across the cheek. Lightly, at first, but when that got no response he did it again, hard enough to break Castiel from whatever stupor he’d fallen into.

Castiel’s head lifted, slowly, slowly, and some brightness came back to his eyes. But his wings still drooped listlessly, and the rest of his body could have been a marble statue, cold and lifeless.

While he still held his attention, Gabriel hissed, “Castiel! Castiel, look at me. What happened? Tell me. I’ve been looking for you for _years_ , brother.”

He got an answer, but not a clear one. “I couldn’t, brother,” Castiel breathed. “She … she was my friend once. We flew together once, I admired her once. I thought I could convince her once.”

Gabriel sighed. He had a feeling he knew the answer, but he still asked, “Who, Castiel? Who?”

“Galadriel,” Castiel whispered back, face still so blank and grace so very dulled, even in Heaven. “She laughed. She said that was not her name. That it was the name of a dead angel, who had died in the Fall. She called herself Apatora.” Castiel didn’t say it, but Gabriel made the connection. Apatora. Apator. Fatherless. He winced. She always had been the type to make statements.

Either way, she was lost to him, but Castiel wasn’t. He shook Castiel hard, grabbed his shoulders and forced him to focus. “C’mon, Castiel,” he urged, “You have to get it together. Yes, Galadriel Fell and has apparently renounced Father entirely.” He ignored Castiel’s tired grimace. “But I am not allowing you to do that same. If you continue on sulking like this, brother, you will Fall. You will _join_ her, and your wings will soon be consumed, and you will quickly be just as twisted by your time in Hell as they now are. Wake up, Castiel!” His voice got progressively louder and louder, until he was practically yelling in Castiel’s face, but even that got no reaction besides another grimace.

His furious agitation disappeared as quickly as it had come, replaced by frenzied worry when Castiel simply answered, “Why do you care, Gabriel?”

Gabriel exploded, wings held tight behind his back in unconscious tension, “Because I love you, you _idiotic _seraph!” He stopped, clammed up. Where had that come from?__

But the announcement, as unprompted as it had been, had caused a change in the angel before him. His grace had brightened and perked up, his wings rising just a tad. And his face, oh Castiel’s face was as open as it used to be, before the Great Fall and the wars and the death. And Gabriel couldn’t bring himself to take back anything he had said when Castiel’s voice wavered as he asked, “Really?”

Gabriel tried to laugh it off, but his chuckle may have come off as a bit hysterical. Even so, he answered as quickly as ever: “I think I may always have. Blind idiot.”

Castiel’s grace surged back, almost leaving an afterimage in Gabriel’s eye. His grin was just as blinding, and when he hugged Gabriel, he could only slump in relief. He wouldn’t be losing Castiel anytime soon, not now.

He was glad.

He pushed Castiel away after what seemed like forever. “You okay, now, Cas?” he asked, trying out a nickname he’d just come up with.

Castiel cocked his head, and Gabriel couldn’t help but find it endearing. Maybe he hadn’t been talking out of his ass after all. “My name is Castiel,” he stated, eyes squinted.

Gabriel laughed. “Yeah, I know, Cas. But I figured, well … after, you know, I figured it was my right to give you a nickname. Better than Cassie, right?”

“I see,” Castiel replied. “Thank you, then?”

Gabriel smirked, trying to keep his calm façade up, even as he just about shook apart inside. “No problem, Cas.”

With that, Castiel thankfully flew away to do … something. Maybe assure his friends – Anael and Uriel, mostly – that he was okay. Gabriel was left alone to hyperventilate.

Father help him. He loved Castiel. The angel he’d tossed into the air as a fledgling. The little fledgling whose wings he’d helped groom, whom he’d watched grow since he was created. The angel that he’d practically raised as a father, and he was in _love_ with him.

Because he knew this feeling. This was so much more than familial love, so much more than what he thought he’d felt for Galadriel (admiration and perhaps a little desire, but no true love, not for her, not when Castiel had been around). This was deeper, brighter, _purer_ in a way. He knew, somewhere deep inside of himself, that if he had to he would give his life for Castiel, would fight a thousand wars for Castiel, would _kill_ if the other so wished it. And that scared him, because he still remembered clearly the look on a fledgling Castiel’s face when he’d caught him, time after time, teaching him to fly. Remembered the cry of joy that the fledgling had released when he’d finally lifted off under his own power and swooped through the sky, wings dark as night.

And yet he loved the angel that fledgling grew into, honest-to-Father wanted to bond himself _forever_ to the angel, so purposeful, so solemn, that the little fledgling, so clumsy, so endearing, had grown into.

He was scared.

After sitting silently on the ground for a while, Gabriel got up and flew numbly back to his nest, in the heart of Heaven. He sat there for a while, but he soon got back up. He had work to do, as a general in Heaven’s army.

It figured that he’d finally start paying attention to his duties only after he’d found a bondmate. What a mess.

He kept encountering Castiel on his flights across Heaven, to talk strategy with Michael, to consult with the leader of the messenger units, to see Raphael about his wounded soldiers. Every time, Castiel tried to bring something up, but could never seem to be able to get it out. Gabriel had a feeling that he knew _exactly_ what it was.

But he’d never been the type for commitment, especially not a commitment as permanent as bonding. So he ducked and dodged every attempt Castiel made to speak with him alone, always making some excuse, finding some escape. Castiel’s face sunk into resignation every time, and while that hurt, Gabriel couldn’t let him ask, because he didn’t _know_ yet.

Castiel finally cornered him on a battlefield, eyes hard. Gabriel had already ordered the rest of the garrison back to Heaven, and had believed (falsely, obviously) that Castiel had gone with them. He rubbed the back of his neck, tried to deflect Castiel away from the topic that he obviously was determined to breach this time. “Hey, Cas, it’s kind of a bad time, you know? Whole battle’s-just-finished thing, right?” He wasn’t really joking. He’d just stared Yael in the eye as the other had died, held her as she cried, and his nerves were still raw.

Castiel didn’t look like he cared. Instead, he grabbed Gabriel’s vessel’s hand and stretched out his grace toward Gabriel. Gabriel, as raw as his grace was, as strung out as the battle had left him, almost recoiled, but he recovered at the hurt look on Castiel’s face. (He’d never hurt Castiel, _never_.)

His grace responded, accepted Castiel’s questing grace within itself. The foreign warmth, so obviously Castiel, made him want to break down. It felt, crazily enough, like home, like Heaven before Father left, like peace.

Before they truly began to bond, Gabriel tugged them both into Heaven, a very secluded part, where no one would think to disturb them, with a thought. He wanted to be alone for this, this most sacred of acts. Castiel gasped at the pull on his own wings, almost trying to pull away, but he shuddered at the love and calm that poured from the grace enveloping his.

Gabriel laid a kiss on Castiel’s forehead once they were settled, still connected by only a thread of grace. He whispered the words of bonding, laying his head on Castiel’s shoulder: “Amor meus, cor et decus mea tibi astringo. Numquam nos sumus dividui. Conpagis noster perpetuo manet, adque noster amor amplius. Per noster Parentem, tibi juro, tibi perpetuo aploctor sum, lumen lumenis mei. ” He opened his grace to Castiel still further, allowed every iota of his love and gentleness, and every broken shard of grief and pain, to emanate from his very being across their connection.

Castiel repeated the words back, gasping slightly, almost overwhelmed by the power and brilliance of the archangel’s grace before him. He felt Gabriel’s grace cradle him, and tried to grasp even the smallest part of Gabriel in return, to return the favor.

He found the gaping hole left by Father when He pulled Gabriel’s sword from his grace. Tears filled his eyes as he observed the damage, felt the lingering pain that even now plagued Gabriel as his own. Castiel tried to fill it with himself, to patch the hole with his own essence, and Gabriel’s eyes welled up just a bit as he felt Castiel’s anguish and compassion. (No pity, never pity.)

In turn, he sought out the hole in Castiel’s grace and poured himself into it as well. They collapsed slowly to the ground, their wings hanging limply as they rode out the reciprocal waves of love and anguish and compassion and love that they felt for each other. They shared the pride in each others’ scars and their grief at their pain, and the emotions bounced back and forth across their forming bond until they seemed to belong to both of them at once.

They basked in the warmth of each other for a very long time. When their graces finally separated, Gabriel opened his eyes to find a small pocket of himself, his grace, embedded in the center of Castiel’s chest. A gasp from Castiel made him glance down to find a corresponding piece of Castiel in him. He grinned, but no words needed to be said, not anymore.

He would always carry Castiel in his heart, now. And Castiel would have him.

He embraced his new bondmate, his little fledgling, his _Castiel_. Castiel pulled him closer, buried his face in the crook of his shoulder. Gabriel patted his back and ignored the wetness he could feel spreading on his chest through his clothing.

Even though it wasn’t truly necessary, he soothed, “Shh … Cas, it’s okay now. We’re okay now. No need for tears.”

Castiel glanced up, eyes reddened. “I am not sad, Gabriel, I promise. I am simply … overcome.”

Gabriel grinned. He knew the feeling.

To lighten the mood, he flipped his new bondmate onto his stomach and pulled Castiel’s wing into his lap. “How long has it been since we did this?” he wondered out loud.

Castiel grunted, “Too long,” and relaxed. Gabriel smirked and ran his fingers through the primary feathers, smoothing out wayward downy feathers on the way. He had missed this, this silent ritual of theirs. He tugged on one of Castiel’s feathers playfully, and the wing under him jerked.

Castiel sat up, flushed slightly, and muttered, “My turn,” with a smirk on his face. He tugged his wing back and, before Gabriel could react, flipped him over and grabbed a golden wing.

Gabriel relaxed as Castiel’s fingers, calloused by his sword but still so nimble and gentle, combed through feathers that haven’t been groomed in what had probably been decades.

He thought that maybe, just maybe, he could find peace here, with Castiel.

His Castiel.

** EPILOGUE **

Gabriel couldn’t help but want to leave Heaven for good. Even with their bond, Castiel couldn’t understand what he went through every day. Listening to Michael and Raphael squabble, then having them turn to him, as if he was their mediator, was breaking him slowly. Because once upon a time, there was another who would mediate, who would step in to calm their two brothers, so alike. There was another who would snicker at their petty quibbles with him, who would stop their arguments, if only to give himself a modicum of peace. But the other was gone, would never be back, because he had made his choice, and it had condemned him.

Lucifer was in the Cage, and the calming light of his presence Fell with him.

And Castiel, fierce Castiel, loyal Castiel, could not comprehend why he was so broken. After all, his bondmate reasoned, at least he still had Michael, still had Raphael. At least he could talk to them, trust them. Because two brothers are better than none, after all, even if drawn blades and vicious words had become a staple of their interactions, even if they couldn’t see each other without accusing the other of some great offense.

Every time they met, Gabriel blocked a killing blow, and begged them – _begged them_ – to please, be calm, for if the leaders of Heaven fought so then the warriors of Heaven would follow, and Hell would overcome. And so Michael and Raphael would part for a time, keep themselves aloof, train with their garrisons, and Gabriel once again would be left to salvage the broken pieces.

He calmed observers, assuring them that, no, their generals were not going to be cast down, and no, Father was not angry, and yes, everything was resolved. And each time he was proven wrong in a decade or so, and each time he had to soothe more and more lost and confused angels whose only fault was believing too deeply in the infallibility of the archangels.

One time, after the fiercest fight yet, where blood was drawn and hatred was kindled, an angel approached Gabriel, hands clasped behind her back. “Archangel,” she queried, “Is it true? Is our Father truly gone?”

Gabriel stared until her wings shuffled in discomfort. “I apologize if I am exceeding my authority,” she demurred, “But I was wondering. If Father is truly gone, and our generals are always fighting, are you the only one to calm them?”

Gabriel nodded without thinking. The other angel, her familiar reddened wings drooping, sighed, “I had prayed not. Do you not think that keeping the peace is too much to ask of a single angel?”

Gabriel shook his head, wings fluffing. “No,” he stated. “It is my duty as their brother, and as the only other archangel. I must.”

The other angel – Anael, he recognized her now – nodded slowly. “I see. Then, Gabriel, I pray to Father that he gives you the strength to bear the responsibilities of duties that he never gave you.” With that, she turned and flew away. Gabriel stood for a long time, her final words repeated again and again in his mind.

With a dismissive shake of his wings, he took flight to where he felt Castiel’s Grace. When he landed, Castiel clung to his chest, love and protectiveness flowing across their bond. Gabriel didn’t move, afraid of dislodging his bondmate. Finally, Castiel let go, storm of emotions calmed, and Gabriel sat, grabbing a wing. “Hey, squirt,” he teased halfheartedly. “Hear any good jokes from Uriel lately?”  
Castiel lay down, consenting silently to the grooming. He hummed as Gabriel pulled on a particularly wayward scrap of down. “Actually, I was hoping to ask you about that, Gabriel,” he stated. “Uriel, and truly the entire garrison, has been very subdued as of late. I am worried about their morale levels. Has something occurred?”

Gabriel numbly worked the piece of down free as he stared at his bondmate. Surely Castiel had seen, or at least heard of, the conflict? Surely? “Um, Cas,” he started, “Have you heard anything about Michael and Raphael lately?” He tried to keep his betrayal – aimed at Michael and Raphael, not at Castiel – away from their bond.

Castiel nodded to himself. “Yes, I see. Their conflict has seeped out into their garrisons. Well, can it be stopped?”

Gabriel sighed. At least Castiel hadn’t asked if he could stop it. At least one angel did not depend on him to fix everything. “I don’t know, Cas,” he answered honestly. “I think this has been brewing since the Fall. Lucifer always helped mediate their fights, and now, well, they’re stuck with me.” He chuckled bitterly. “I can’t tell them to stop fighting or else I’ll go find Father. I can’t soothe their bruised egos with a word, or even a speech. I can’t even make myself heard over their screaming.” He sighed. “All I can do is stop them from killing each other.”

Castiel looked up to see the despair on Gabriel’s face, felt it across their bond, and levered himself into a sitting position. “No, Gabriel,” he murmured, holding the other close, funneling hope and confidence, “You are not useless. You are the strongest angel, archangel or not, general or not, that I know. Not only do you conduct yourself admirably as a general, but you perform duties that only you assign yourself by mediating these arguments. You do not respond to anger with anger; you bring only calm and as such they listen to you, even if it does not seem like it. Believe me, Gabriel, without you it would become so much worse.”

Gabriel sighed. “Or it could get better. They’d have an equal number of troops if they split up my garrison – one major point Raphael is always whining about. And Michael wouldn’t have to fret about whether or not Raphael had more influence with his troops – because there wouldn’t be a third party screwing everything up. And—”

Cutting him off, anger flashing to life, Castiel growled, “No! I will not listen to you _rationalizing_ your desertion of Heaven! Do you not understand? If you leave, where am I? If I follow you, I Fall! If I stay, our bond stretches and stretches until it shatters, and that will hurt me far more than you! If you leave, Gabriel, do not think only about yourself and the other archangels. Think about me, your _bondmate_ , the only angel, the only _being_ that trusts you wholly and whom you trust wholly in return. Because, Gabriel, you saved me once. Even more than that, you taught me, nurtured me, safeguarded me for the greater part of my existence. I would feel inadequate, as both a friend and a bondmate, if you would not allow me to return at least a few of the favors that you have done me.”

“But Cas …”

“ _No._ ” Anger turned to desperation and fear. “Please, Gabriel, do not force me to choose. Do not hold me between you and Heaven, because I do not know where I will fall. I would like to say that I would follow you until the end, but that end would be far too soon. I would be _human_ , Gabriel, and you an archangel still. I would die in what would seem to you like a blink of an eye.

“And if I stayed I would be vilified, Gabriel. Do not shake your head at me, you know this is true. I would be the angel who let his bondmate, a general of the garrison, desert his position. I would be scorned and looked down upon and pitied, because a bonded angel who loses their bondmate is weakened, brought low by the constant dull pain of a hole in their Grace and an abyss in their heart. And that angel may overcome that emptiness, but it takes centuries, Gabriel. I would not wish that upon any angel, but especially not upon you. Bonds go both ways.”

“Castiel,” Gabriel protested weakly, feeling pain scrape through Castiel.

Castiel violently shook his head, swiping away the droplets of tears that had fallen. “May we forget about this, just for a while?” he begged, “I would like to … I would like you to groom my wings, as we used to. Before … everything.”

Gabriel sniffed, trying to smile. “Of course, Cas. Why would you even have to ask?” He nudged Castiel back onto his stomach, and lifted an ebony wing. If Castiel noticed that one of Gabriel’s hands never left the center of his back, where Gabriel’s Grace lay, he never mentioned it.

Gabriel tried to keep his hands from shaking, and fiddled again with that roguish patch of down. He knew he could get it to lie flat, eventually.

Neither of them spoke, but heavy words hung between them all the same.

Gabriel sat on the steps of his Father’s empty throne. Michael and Raphael, below him, screamed at each other, wings held high in attempts at dominance, swords flashing as the brothers parried each other’s blows. With a particularly clever feint, Michael made to slash at his brother’s wing, snarl marring his face.

Gabriel couldn’t take it anymore. He lunged, arms outstretched, as if to stop the blade. Instead, he watched, powerless, as the blade meant for Raphael’s wing instead bit into his own. He screamed as Grace leaked from the wound.

Michael stared as his brother’s essence – not the one he aimed for, but the one who was foolish enough to try and stop him – seeped inexorably into the air around him. Raphael stepped forward, as if to aid him, but a glare from Michael had him stepping back, hands in the air, sword slipped back into Grace. Michael dropped to his knees beside his still-screaming brother. “Gabriel,” he muttered, “Why?”

Through his pain, Gabriel managed a bitter snort. “Because, you idiot,” he replied, “You’re _both_ my brothers, and I’m not watching either one of you kill the other.”

Raphael stepped forward, still wary, eyeing the slow leak of Grace. “But _why_ , brother?” he asked.

“Because if Michael hit you, it all would’ve been over. You’d never have made up.”

Michael stood. “You should never have stepped between us, Gabriel,” he stated, face hardening. “Now you are hurt. And it is Raphael’s fault.” Michael stormed away.

Gabriel tried to bolt upright, but winced at the tug on his wing. “What? No!” he yelled, trying to drag Michael back. 

Raphael watched, face passive, until Michael was out of sight. Then he turned to Gabriel and hummed, “I suppose I should have predicted that. You should have as well, brother. You know that Michael will never take the blame, and I am his scapegoat for more foolish things.”

“Yeah, I know,” Gabriel muttered. “I just wish you’d both stop. Don’t you see what you’re doing to Heaven? Anael is almost ready to Fall, and some of the others are taking sides. I had to separate Joel and Haniel earlier, and pacify others who had readied themselves to jump in on whichever side they favored. You two and your squabbles are tearing Heaven _apart_. Can you not stop?”

“I am afraid not, brother,” Raphael murmured, eyes unfocused. “Michael has chosen me as his scapegoat, and I can do nothing to convince him. It is all I can do to hold him off when he searches me out to blame me for some imagined slight. Some days I wonder if losing our brother has lost us another.”

Wings drooping despite the pain, Gabriel sighed. “Yeah.”

“Now come, brother. Let me see where you were injured. Perhaps I can heal it somewhat, although our wings are our most delicate limbs,” Raphael stated, stepped closer. He inspected the tear with a critical eye, fingers, glowing with his own Grace, skating just above the wound. He hummed in thought. “I should be able to heal the damage. However, you will always be scarred, brother, and for that I apologize.”

“I guess it’s what I get, jumping between Michael and his target,” Gabriel muttered, wincing as the tear mended under Raphael’s ministrations.

Stepping away, Raphael just hummed in agreement before taking wing. Gabriel remained on the ground, still trying to shrug off the residue of pain that lingering in his wing. Finally, he stood, swaying. 

He, too, flew away, landing by the edge of Heaven, where he could see all of Earth and all of Hell. As he gazed downward, he remembered the absence of remorse in Michael’s face, and the quiet disapproval in Raphael’s tone. He shook out his wing, stretching it out to see its new scar.

He began to shiver as he realized just how close he had come to dying at Michael’s hands. Had he been just a little faster, reached just a little further, Michael’s blade would have stretched under his wing to find his back. He would have died trying to stop their senseless fighting. Raphael had known it, from what he remembered of the look on his face. And Michael had certainly realized, judging from the desperation in his gaze before he cut himself off completely.

As he watched humanity carry on with its existence below, he fingered the scar. If he stayed, he would soon have to break up yet another brawl between either his older brothers or the lower angels. If he left, he would have to break the only thing keeping him sane, and leave Castiel alone.

But if he stayed, he may well die the next time, leaving Castiel just as alone. At least, if he left, he would still be able to check in on his bondmate. He wouldn’t be able to speak with him, but he could ensure that his angel wasn’t being ostracized or put down because of his actions.

He steeled himself, wings outstretched. His eyes stayed fixed on Earth. And he lifted is wings. And he Fell.

Castiel’s scream followed him, all the way to the ground. Then the other’s pain disappeared from Gabriel’s mind, as their bond snapped. And oh, Gabriel now knew why Balthazar and Raphael and so many others had withdrawn upon losing their bondmates. Because this pain was not skin deep, no it wormed its way into his Grace, deep into his core, and settled, burning and stabbing and needling at his Grace.

But he couldn’t go back. He had made his choice. So he cloaked himself, assuming the guise of a pagan Trickster, and wandered off. He could still dispense justice on Earth; he could carry out the task his Father gave him so many eons ago. Heck, he could have fun with it now, removed from the strict guidelines of Heaven and Michael.

He found his first victim, a stout man with battle scars and an axe slung over his shoulder. This brute beat his wife every chance he found, contriving some excuse to “punish” her for some wrongdoing. No one tried to stop him; he was the leader of his small clan, and his word was law.

But Gabriel brought a different law, one that he created. And he delved into the brute’s mind – Bjorn Ulrichsson was his name – to find a name to assume, one that would force this warrior to cower before him.  
He found the name “Loki,” accompanied by the image of a reddish-haired, cunning Trickster, and he smiled. Oh, yes, Loki was a good persona for passing judgment.

So he appeared before Bjorn in his new guise, red hair tied back behind his head, brown eyes flashing. Bjorn gasped and knelt, breathing, “Loki Farbautisson.” Fear rushed over the man, and Gabriel – Loki now – reveled in it. 

He bent over in front of Bjorn so that they saw eye to eye, and he whispered, “Bjorn Ulrichsson, he of the strong axe and quick strike, he of the frail wife and wild fist, coward and no warrior, you are no follower of Thor. I have heard the cries of your wife. She calls for deliverance. From you. And I have answered her pleas.

“You are found guilty of abuse of a woman, and abuse of power. Face your punishment, and die well.” Loki snapped his fingers and conjured an image of Ulrich, Bjorn’s father, directing the illusion to raise its broadsword and attack. Bjorn, struck dumb, died with the first stroke. Ulrich’s image, task completed, faded as well. 

“Huh,” Loki mused. “I don’t think that counted as ‘dying well.’” He paused, suddenly craving honey-soaked bread. Then he wandered away, humming to himself, cloaking himself in many layers of illusion. One layer disguised his Grace as pagan power, already burgeoning due to the worship – or rather, acknowledgment – of an entire people. Another layer changed the visage of his vessel into that of the Loki that his people would recognize: a long, hawkish face with sunken, clever eyes, a shock of red hair, and a height that towered over even the tallest warrior. Yet another layer enforced the first two, making it so that even Loki’s brothers, whom he could now sense as he sank deeper and deeper into the pagan’s power, would not notice the change.

Gabriel, archangel, faded to the background of his mind, allowing Loki, Silvertongue, Liesmith, to the fore. Even though pagan power seeped into Grace, however, he could still feel his connection to Heaven, could still hear the quiet song of the Host.

He forced himself to ignore the mourning keen of Castiel that still resonated in his ears. Loki knew no Castiel, knew no bondmate, and Gabriel slept deeply within.

Many years later, Lucifer had been freed and the Horsemen rode. Gabriel, hearing the Host clearly for the first time in centuries, slowly woke, his perception overcoming that of Loki. He listened to the Host’s song and, hearing of the Winchesters, took flight.

He vaguely remembered playing with them and some old coot a few years earlier, with a vague idea of their destiny but no clue how they were to enact it. Now, it seemed that not only were they approaching the end of their road, but they’d also found an angelic bodyguard. He trapped them in an illusion, not seeing their angel anywhere nearby. A few days went by before their angel showed, but he trapped the angel before he could free the Winchesters from the game.

The angel felt achingly familiar, and it all clicked when he bounded into the illusory room he’d created to trap the Winchesters, only to find blue eyes staring at him in confusion, and what was more than likely a bit of fear.

Recognition seared across his Grace, and he chose to ignore the aching of the still-raw bond. “Hi, Castiel!” he beamed. He snapped his fingers, transporting Castiel to another area of the illusion, making certain that nothing there could seriously harm him. After all, it wouldn’t do to kill the one angel who might be sympathetic. (He also ignored the way his Grace reached out on its own to try and merge with Castiel’s again. That road led to madness.)

Facing the Winchesters, he told them everything: their destinies, the ineffable nature of their end, and his heartfelt desire to just let it be over with. He hated thinking about Michael and Raphael working together to fight another of their brothers, to kill Lucifer, once and for all. All for an absent Father who could not care less about the road they chose.

He teased and tortured the Winchesters more when they refused to see the truth. When Dean called uncle, he expected a trap, some plan to stake him again (ineffectually). What he wasn’t expecting was a ring of holy oil. But that’s what he received. When Dean insulted his brothers, his _family_ , he erupted. The Winchesters watched, eyes shuttered, as he ranted, asking questions, assuming that there was some way to change their fates. He felt bad, he did. It’s not like he didn’t know what it was like to have to kill a brother.

When Dean threatened to “barbeque himself an archangel,” he brought Castiel back from the pocket of illusion he’d stuck him in. He didn’t like the resolve he saw in Dean’s eyes; if he hadn’t brought Castiel back, Dean would have probably carried out his promise. 

But when Castiel appeared, Gabriel saw everything in just a glance. Castiel’s desperation to find their Father. His protectiveness over Dean – who, now that he looked, had Castiel’s Grace branded on his shoulder. His unease around Sam, and yet his deep respect for the same man. His Grace-deep _longing_ for their bond.

It hurt.

What hurt even more was Castiel’s silence, except for a curt greeting. He supposed he deserved it. Even so, it struck something deep inside him.

When the trio left the warehouse, the holy fire fizzled and died. Gabriel could still sense Castiel outside; obviously, the Winchesters hadn’t taken him with them. He flew to the other’s side, tensing for a blow.  
“Hey, Cas,” he murmured, eyes downcast. “I am sorry, you know. I just couldn’t take any more.”

Castiel didn’t turn, didn’t look at him. He only said, “I mourned you, Gabriel.”

“I know.”

“When you Fell from Heaven, when our bond broke … I thought you dead.”

“I know.”

Castiel growled, whipping around to confront him for the first time. “Then why did you not _tell_ me?”

Gabriel slumped even more. “Because … because just before I left,” Castiel growled. “Fine. Just before I _Fell_ , I stepped into another of Michael and Raphael’s fights. Are they still fighting by the way?”

Castiel ground out, “No. Lucifer’s Rise brought them together with a common enemy. Do not change the subject.”

“Whatever,” Gabriel shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “Anyway, I stepped in. And did I choose a bad time to do it or _what_. Michael was going for a slice to Raphael’s wings. Might not have even connected, but that’s irrelevant, I suppose. I jumped in. Got Michael’s sword to my wing – just a flesh wound, mind you – but if I’d moved just an iota faster, well … let’s just say that I wouldn’t be here. At all.”

Castiel’s face relaxed from its hardened mask, frightened vulnerability showing through.

“Hey, it’s all good now,” Gabriel demurred. “I just got a scar, no one died, and hey! They’re not even fighting anymore, so it’s all moot anyway. Whatever. How’ve the Winchesters been treating you, Cas?”

“They are good men,” Castiel insisted, a solemn look on his face. “Even if Sam’s blood is tainted, he tries to overcome the stain every day. And Dean, even with his vices, is honorable. Will you not help us? We are trying our hardest, but Zachariah is persistent if he is nothing else.”

“Zachariah? _That_ goon is in charge up there? What happened to Michael?” Gabriel snorted in derision. “I’ll bet Dean and Zachariah get along wonderfully.”

Castiel frowned. “No. They do not.” He paused. “Michael has withdrawn into Heaven. He allows Zachariah to secure his vessel.”

Gabriel hummed in understanding. He tilted his head. “I can see some problems with that plan. I guess Michael knows best, though.”

Castiel shrugged, but refocused. “Gabriel,” he insisted, “I am begging you, please. Help us stop this. We could do it if we only knew _how_.”

With a sigh, Gabriel slumped. “I’ll think about it, okay? Since you’re so insistent.”

“That is all I can ask, I suppose,” Castiel reasoned, nodding. “Thank you.” He made to take flight, but Gabriel stopped him.

“Take care of yourself, okay, Cas?” he whispered.

Castiel responded, “Only if you do as well.”

Gabriel nodded, and Castiel took flight, probably off to look more for their Father. Gabriel snorted. Only Castiel would still have blind faith in the face of the Apocalypse.

He curled his wings around himself and sat quietly. He began to pick at his secondaries, spotting some lightly singed feathers. As he groomed his wings back into their slightly-less-than-bedraggled state, he thought.

He thought about the desperation in the Winchesters’ faces when he told them about their destinies, and their resolve when they refuted them.

He thought about the quiet pride Castiel exuded when he spoke of Dean, and the respect he harbored for Sam.

He thought about the hollow area in his chest where Castiel’s Grace once sat, centuries ago.

Finally, he thought about ineffability, and his Father, and His final command.

Gabriel stood, resolve hardened, and took flight. He knew there was some way to stop this. After all, Father loved humanity; he wouldn’t provide the means for their destruction without also providing the means for their salvation.

All he had to do was find it.

(And he would. For Castiel.)

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment! I'd love to know what you thought!


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